


The Second Sunday of May

by ImNeitherNor



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Depression, Existing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mother's Day, Pain is Real, Steve is fed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 11:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13006692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNeitherNor/pseuds/ImNeitherNor
Summary: Steve has no idea what the hell is bothering BIlly, but after he slams the door in his face, he comes to some hard truths about their relationship.He also finds out that he may haveseriouslyfucked up.





	The Second Sunday of May

 

The Second Sunday of May

 

 

            Steve wasn’t sure what Billy’s deal was. The last week and a half, the guy had been a complete _asshole_. That wasn’t necessarily out of the norm for Billy, but over the last couple of months, Billy had slowly started to let go and become almost _gentle_ with Steve. The sudden shift in his behavior left Steve raw, and sometimes, not just emotionally. Ever since May rolled around, Billy’s words cut a little closer and his hands were a little rougher, and Steve hated to admit it, but at times, it _hurt_. Billy would leave him in bed, panting and completely thrown off, and stomp his ass out to his Camaro and tear out of his driveway.

 

            Steve wanted answers, and he wasn’t sure Billy was willing to give them. He was almost at the point of shutting the door in Billy’s face, to tell him to fuck off and get the _fuck out of his house_. He didn’t deserve to Billy’s punching bag, but each time those blue eyes looked up at him (even if it was just by a smidgen), Steve caved and let the beast back in. And recently, each time he took Billy in, it left open, festering wounds that he wasn’t sure he could recover from.

 

            On Friday, two weeks into May, Steve decided he was done.

 

            They were in the showers, Steve’s eyes closed as he let the water drip over his face, his jaw, and as it swathed down his shoulders, he grimaced. Billy had bitten the hell out of him the other night and drawn blood. It was scabbing over, but it still hurt like a bitch when water hit it.

 

            “That’s some damn mark, Steve,” Tommy grinned and Steve ignored him, just as he always did in the showers.

 

            “Finally getting action after that slut,” Billy mused off to the side and Steve’s body went taut. He opened his eyes just enough to glance at Billy, to give him a warning, to let him know that was _not okay_. But Billy being fucking Billy, he continued, “You into some rough shit, Harrington? ‘Cause that looks like it hurt.”

 

            “It _did_ ,” Steve punctuated his sentence purposely, watched the way Billy’s eyes flickered with surprise before that shit-eating grin took over his face again. Steve knew it was a mask, but he didn’t care.

 

            “Maybe you just can’t handle her, then,” Tommy laughed and Steve yanked the lever down. The water stopped and he seethed between his teeth.

 

            “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Steve bit out and left the showers.

 

            “The hell is wrong with him?” Tommy watched Steve’s receding back and Billy pressed his lips together tightly before responding.

 

            “Who the fuck knows.”

 

~ ~

 

            Billy wasn’t even sure if he should be here, in front of Steve’s house, staring at the door. He wasn’t sure, after that remark earlier, if Steve even wanted him here. He shifted from one boot to the other, anxiety running high in his system. The shower after practice had left his stomach coiled and his chest empty, and he kept asking what the _fuck_ was wrong with him to make Steve so damned angry. He knew Steve didn’t deserve it. He knew that what he had been doing was shitty, but he felt like he was spiraling out of control, into the depths of his head, and that was never a great place to be.

 

            Finally, Billy rang the doorbell. Normally, he just walked in. Today didn’t… feel like that day. He didn’t feel welcome, and he supposed it was rightly so, even if it made his skin itch and his fingers curl with the urge to punch something.

 

            When the door opened, the look on Steve’s face almost had Billy stepping back, _almost_.

 

            “What the fuck are you doing here, Hargrove?” Steve hadn’t called him that in a long time, not alone, not when they could call each other their names without worrying about someone over-hearing. It made Billy’s chest throb.

 

            “Look, Ste—“

 

            “No. _No._ You don’t get to ‘hey, Steve’ me after the shit you’ve been pulling,” Steve’s expression was somewhere between a scowl and _hurt_ , and Billy knew he probably deserved this.

 

            “I just wanted to—“

 

            “No, Hargrove. Fuck. Off,” Steve shut the door and Billy felt as if the ground was opening and he was falling. He felt out of body, like he wasn’t controlling his limbs as he walked to the Camaro and slumped into the driver’s seat. He wanted to feel rage. He wanted to be furious and he wanted to feel that same fire that helped him get through one of his dad’s lectures. But he couldn’t. Having Steve shut the door on him felt like an ending he wasn’t ready for, a decision he had pushed on Steve but hadn’t even fucking realized it.

 

            The drive back to his dad’s place was filled with smoke and wet eyes.

 

~ ~

 

            It was strange waking up alone on Saturday. Steve hated it, but he hated the way his body ached more from getting into it with Billy for the last two fucking weeks.

 

            But Steve could also recognize when he missed someone, and he _missed_ Billy Hargrove.

 

~ ~

            Sunday wasn’t any better.

 

            By the time Steve was walking out the door of his house, his mind had trailed back to Friday night. He hadn’t even waited to see Billy’s response when he told him to fuck off and shut the door. He hadn’t looked out the window to watch Billy drive off, but he had heard the roar of the Camaro. The lack of tire-squealing surprised him, and he hated that it made him feel _guilty_. He shouldn’t—Billy had been awful these past two weeks.

 

            Billy hadn’t contacted or come by on Saturday, and Steve hated that he was disappointed. He hated that he felt any sort of remorse for possibly hurting him. He wasn’t even sure if he had at this point. By Billy’s disappearance, he had an inkling, though.

 

            Pulling up to the arcade wasn’t out of the norm, but the way the kids were standing as a group was. He looked over and saw the trepidation on the kids’ faces and furrowed his brow. Whatever the hell was going on was _not_ following them into this car. He made eye contact with Dustin, who quickly looked away, and he knew something was up.

 

            “What the hell,” Steve sighed and dropped his head back onto the headrest. Of course, the kids were pissed about something. His weekend couldn’t get any worse, so why not? As they all clambered in, it was eerily silent, and Steve’s stomach turned.

 

            “Max needs a ride,” Dustin was the first to speak, and Steve’s shoulders slumped. Thank god. He _really_ didn’t want to have—wait.

 

            “What? Hargrove isn’t picking her up?” When he looked over, everyone was looking in different directions. “What? What the hell are you all thinking about? Seriously? _Anyone_ going to talk to me?”

 

            “She won’t ask. She seems pretty upset about something…” Dustin looked over and Steve felt that he was accusing him of something, anything, and he glared. Dustin simply raised an eyebrow at him, which didn’t help both the anger and a weird, biting feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

            “Where is she?” Steve glanced back to the arcade and Dustin nodded. “Damn it. You all suck, you know that?”

 

            “Vote from party members on Steve getting Max?” Lucas called, and all hands shot into the air but Steve’s.

 

            “You’re screwed, Steve,” Dustin’s grin was wide and Steve wondered, vaguely, how he got himself into this mess.

 

            “Yeah, yeah,” Steve climbed out of the BMW and heard the immediate chatter in his car. He blocked it out and wandered through the arcade. When he couldn’t find Max, he stepped out of the side door and paused. The flash of red hair was unmistakable. She was sitting on the ground, back pressed against the wall, her broken skateboard in her lap.

 

            “Hey, Max,” Steve licked his lips and walked over. If he was nervous or weary of any of them, it was Max. She may not be directly related to Billy, but she certainly tapped into his level of temper (although she seemed to handle it better than anyone).

 

            “What did you do?” Max looked up, her fierce gaze making Steve stutter. He blinked, surprised, and squatted down next to her.

 

            “What do you mean?”

 

            “To Billy,” when her eyes met his again, he felt himself flush. Shit, what did she know? “Really? You think I’m stupid? I see the way you two look at each other. I _know_ about him, Steve. And I know something happened because he was okay for a while…” She looked away and Steve’s stomach clenched. He felt the urge to get up and run, but he also knew that Max was a little girl. He was pretty sure that he could handle being verbally assaulted by her.

 

            Steve let out a ragged sigh and finally eased himself onto the ground. He put his back to the wall and glanced at the sky. The whole Party was intuitive. They were smart little shits and, unfortunately, that wasn’t always a good thing. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

 

            “Steve, Billy’s been missing since yesterday morning.” Max fidgeted with the skateboard, picking off stray pieces of duct tape from her botched job of trying to fix it. “Neil—they got into it, and…” her voice became thick and Steve _knew_ if he looked, her eyes would be glimmering with tears. “And I’ve never seen it so bad.”

 

            Panic raced down Steve’s spine, but he had to breathe through it. He couldn’t let Max see that he was freaking out. He couldn’t let her know that he didn’t want to listen anymore, that he wanted to climb into his car and fucking find that asshole before he did something stupid (he was _always_ doing something stupid).

 

            “He does this a lot, Max,” Steve murmured, “I mean, the running off after him and Neil get into it. You know that. Sometimes he just needs space.” How fucking weird was it that he was talking about Billy, without any sort of malice, to Max? He felt like he was in another dimension (except not, because fuck all of that).

 

            “But he shouldn’t be alone today, Steve,” Max pressed her lips together and Steve frowned. He looked over and saw the way her body trembled. “He really, _really_ shouldn’t be alone today.”

 

            “What’s today, Max?” Steve curled his fingers in his pockets. His brain began to paint a picture of the last two weeks—Billy being rough, his words harsh, his countenance just off compared to what Steve was used to. He had done everything in his power to keep himself at arm’s length from Steve, and he had done an amazing job at it. So much so, that when Steve shut the door in his face, he hadn’t felt like shit about it.

 

            “Are you stupid?” Max gave him a look, and despite the tears in her eyes, Steve felt like an idiot under her glare. “It’s _Mother’s Day_ , Steve.”

 

            “And? I get he’s from California, but he could just call her,” Steve glanced over and froze at the way Max was staring at him.

 

            “She’s… She’s dead, Steve. He _can’t_.”

 

            Suddenly, the world was spinning. Steve’s skin felt like it was on fire. He remembered when he commented on Billy’s necklace, that warm smile that spread across his face as he spoke about how he got it from his mom. He hadn’t used past tense. He hadn’t _used_ … Even when he commented about how Billy had his hair long, about how soft and curly it was, he had that same stupid smile on his face and _oh, god_ …

 

            “Oh, fuck,” Steve breathed.

 

            He had shut the door in Billy’s face.

 

            Billy had been about to—he had maybe been about to explain everything? He had sounded half-desperate, and Steve had… he had…

 

            “Oh, _fuck_.”

 

            “You have to find him,” Max looked over to Steve and all he could do was nod jerkily. He scrambled to his feet and Max grabbed his arm. “Stop! You can’t just run out there. You have to compose yourself, right? You have to drive us home first.” Steve looked down at Max and saw the determination there, the absolute intelligence behind eyes that were far too young for all of this shit.

 

            “Yeah, yeah… Okay, Max. Let’s go,” Steve turned and guided Max through the arcade. When they got to the car, his hands were shaking as he started the BMW. He only half-heard the conversation between the kids, putting himself on auto-pilot to take each of them home. He waited to take Max home last, and as they drove toward the house, his gaze flickered over to her.

 

            “Max…”

 

            “Don’t, Steve. Just find him, okay? Find him and bring him back. He may be an asshole, but he’s _my_ asshole brother,” Max’s statement made Steve wonder if their relationship had grown; if somehow, his interactions with Billy had helped him be less of an ass to Max. Now that he reflected on the last couple of months, he could see small changes—small, but important—and that made him feel like even _more_ shit.

 

            “I’ll bring him home,” Steve gripped the steering wheel as Max climbed out of his car. When he looked over, she was leaning down to look at him.

 

            “I wouldn’t come back until you do,” Max’s eyes spoke volumes and Steve swallowed. Right. Okay. She was just as fucking scary as Billy. That was good to know.

 

            “Yeah,” Steve looked back to the road and closed his eyes as the door shut.

 

~ ~

 

            The sun was setting by the time Steve found him. The Camaro was parked sideways in the parking lot, its wheels angled to the right. The driver’s side door hung open, and he wondered how long it had been that way. Steve knew how much Billy treasured his car and how it looked, so seeing it like that made his chest hurt.

 

            As Steve parked, he stared at the decrepit playground. No one came here anymore, but it was one of their favorite spots to just hang and smoke. So, Steve wasn’t surprised when he saw the hunched over figure on the swing-set. His body was far too big for it, and yet, it creaked as he moved back and forth, his heels dug into the ground. His hands were hanging in between his legs, a cigarette held between his fingers. Steve couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t need to.

 

            Steve had done this.

 

            It took a minute for Steve to compose himself, to find the energy to get out of his car. He had been looking for Billy for over an hour now, and the adrenaline and panic were still coursing through his veins. He eased his door open and stood, ignoring the way his muscles ached. When he shut his door, Billy looked up. Steve watched how his body tensed, how his fingers tightened around his cigarette. He waited for Billy to bolt, to yell, to laugh with his normal malice.

 

            Yet, he did none of those things, and Steve knew he had really fucked up. This was territory that he had never touched before. He was even hesitating walking up to Billy, but he had basically promised Max that he would bring him back, and he was _not_ going back on that. Slowly, because he felt like he was walking on eggshells at this point, Steve walked across the grassy area of the playground and over the tire shredding. Once he was close enough to Billy, he froze.

 

            Billy’s shoulders were shaking. He couldn’t have seen it from his car, but they were, and as Steve stepped closer, he realized that tears were falling onto his hands, and his hands were damp. He had been crying, and he had been crying for a _while_. Steve pushed through his own anxiety and kneeled in front of Billy. When he looked up into his face, there were fresh, dark bruises and dried blood from cuts on his lip and brow.

 

            _“And I’ve never seen it so bad.”_

 

            It was clear that Billy and Neil had gotten into it, and from Steve’s experience with these, Billy was usually the only one on the receiving end. Billy could throw down. There was no fucking doubt about that, but he never raised a hand back to his dad. Steve had been terrified after finding that out that, if Billy ever did retaliate, Neil would just kill him. No matter what, though, Billy maintained that he could take care of it, that Steve didn’t have to worry, that there was only so much time left before he was eighteen and could leave that place.

 

            Steve had never talked about how anxious he was about Billy _living_ to see eighteen in that house.

 

            Instead of speaking, because what could he possibly say, Steve slid his hands over Billy’s, felt the moisture of his tears, and brought his knuckles to his lips. The cigarette fell to the ground, but Billy kept his other hand tightly clenched. He kissed his hands until he was just brushing his lips over the skin, until he heard the hitched sobs escaping Billy’s throat, and he squeezed him in an attempt to apologize. When he finally managed to open the closed hand with some gentle coaxing, his heart fell into his stomach. Billy’s necklace, that little piece that was always against his chest (his fucking _heart_ ), even in the showers, glimmered in front of Steve.

 

            Suddenly, Billy’s sliding. Steve pulled back just enough so that Billy could kneel in front of him, the empty swing clattering behind. He immediately leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Billy’s shoulders, pulling him to his chest while tangling one hand into his curls. He can hear the raspy sobs now, so unbearably close to him, and he heard the word ‘sorry’ mumbled _over and over again_.

 

            “No, no, Billy, _please_ ,” Steve could feel the sting of tears in his own eyes and he curled his fingers into Billy’s leather jacket. “I’m sorry. Come on, let’s get out of here, alright? Let’s go.”

 

~ ~

 

            Steve didn’t bring Billy back to his dad’s house. He passed the road that would have brought him there, and he saw the way Billy started shaking again. He had stopped crying, but he had also not spoken. At all. Steve had kept looking at him, kept squeezing his knee, kept tangling their fingers together. No matter what, though, Billy stared out the passenger window, shrunk in on himself and so not fucking himself that Steve wanted to throw up.

 

            It was like Billy wasn’t even there with him, even if he was sitting less than a foot away.

 

            That was when Steve decided that, until Billy was squirming and crying and begging beneath him, he wouldn’t let him go.

 

            Steve would make sure that Billy felt wanted. Felt loved. No matter how long it took.

 

~ ~

 

            When Steve managed to get Billy into his bedroom, it was through gentle nudging and pulling by his hand. Finally, Steve urged Billy to sit back on the bed, and he did without protest or complaint. He did without a damned word, and Steve’s chest continued to ache. Unable to find his own voice at the point, Steve slid his fingers over the hand that held the necklace. He leaned over and began to press his lips along Billy’s temple, his cheek, the corner of his lips, his jaw. He kissed him until the hand that held the necklace loosened, and he dipped his fingers over the jewelry. Gently, because he knew Billy was somewhat aware of what he was doing, he lifted the necklace and slid it back over Billy’s head. He pulled the curls back over it and then adjusted the circular pendant so that it sat against his chest again.

 

            The creak of leather was loud in the room as Steve helped Billy remove his jacket. He dropped it to the side and ran his fingers over Billy’s chest and his shoulders. It was strange seeing Billy in a regular t-shirt, and he missed the feel and softness of his skin. As his fingers and palms moved over Billy’s chest, to his stomach, he waited for any objection. When there was none, he took the bottom of Billy’s shirt and brought it up. Billy raised his arms and let Steve pull the fabric up and over his head. He dropped it on top of his jacket and turned back, but as he did, he faltered.

 

            There were bruises blossoming over Billy’s chest and stomach. Steve counted four, but he was sure there were more, less visible ones throbbing just below the skin. He felt that rush of anger again, but it quickly died, squelched out by guilt. He had shut Billy out. He had forced him to leave Friday night and Billy had sought out the next best thing: pain.

 

            Steve kneeled in front of the bed, in front of Billy, and tucked his arms around Billy’s waist. He leaned in and pressed his lips, feather-light, across each of the bruises. Normally, Billy’s hands were all over him—touching, grasping, clenching—but there was nothing. Billy’s hands stayed at his sides, even as Steve kissed along his collarbone and his jaw.

 

            “C’mon, baby,” Steve tried to encourage, tried to break whatever spell Billy was in. When his words didn’t work, he leaned back to pull his own shirt up and over his head. He stood again and then urged Billy further up the bed. The teen went, following direction, and once he settled, Steve took his boots and socks off. He climbed up onto the bed, up over Billy, and began to kiss along his jaw and neck again. Once he slid his lips to Billy’s ear, he nibbled the lobe and licked the skin with his tongue. The small gasp made him smile, even if it was a little brokenly. He licked along his ear again and sighed as Billy moaned.

 

            At least he got _some_ reaction out of him.

 

            Steve reached down and unlatched Billy’s pants. He slid his fingers under the zipper, forcing it open, and curled his fingers around Billy’s half-hard cock. Billy’s back arched and Steve held his breath as his hips rolled. He loved how, despite the fact that Billy was so aggressive and dominating outside of the bedroom, he was pliant, responsive and _needy_ beneath him on his bed. It was like he was starved for attention and it all came to a head when they were together, Steve’s hands on him, claiming him, _ruining him_.

 

            Billy was moaning again, pulling Steve from his thoughts as he worked his fingers enough to get Billy completely hard. He leaned back when he did and grinned at the half-lidded look Billy was giving him. He still seemed so far away, but part of him was here with Steve, enjoying the way he slid his thumb over the tip of his cock. He squeezed his fingers at the base and then stroked up, mesmerized by how Billy’s head tipped back and his hips rolled forward, how his back arched and his lips parted in a tiny gasp.

 

            When Steve let go of Billy’s cock, he smiled at the hiss—the little bit of protest Billy gave him. He leaned over and rummaged in his nightstand until he found the lube. As he did, he reached his other hand and tugged at Billy’s jeans. It was enough of a suggestion that Billy got to removing them immediately. Steve watched him lift his hips to push them down. He watched how Billy leaned up and over to tug them off his legs (because damn, they were _tight_ ).

 

            As soon as the jeans were off, Billy was spreading his legs for him, his thighs parted wide so that Steve could settle there. Once he had, his eyes lingered over the bruises first, and then swept over the defined muscles that lead to Billy’s cock, his thighs, and his magnificent muscles that twitched and tensed as his fingers brushed just below his balls. He looked up at him, and finally, Billy made eye contact with him. His eyes were glassy and slightly red from crying, but there were hints of pleasure and _need_ there that Steve knew only he could fill.

 

            “You’re so gorgeous for me, baby,” Steve murmured and he loved the way Billy’s chest and neck blushed. He loved that those lips parted in anticipation as he slicked his fingers with lube. At the same moment that Steve slipped his fingers over Billy’s hole, he leaned down and gently bit the roped muscle next to Billy’s hipbone. He slid his tongue over the defined muscle, enjoying the way Billy’s breath hitched as he pushed a single digit inside of him.

 

            The second finger joined the first and Billy was squirming impatiently as Steve opened him up, spreading his fingers, curling them in ways he knows Billy likes. He still kisses along his stomach, licking and biting the skin and avoiding the angry purples and blues of Billy’s last round. When Billy’s body was rocking with earnest, on the edge of desperation, Steve added a third finger. Billy hissed, loudly, and Steve was sure he was going to be kicked or yelled at to just _fuck him_.

 

            “ _Steve_ ,” Billy whined, and Steve almost stopped breathing. He hadn’t heard Billy’s voice in days and something deep inside of him shattered at the husky, frantic plea.

 

            Slowly, because Steve loved the way Billy arched and pivoted his hips, he pulled his fingers out and wrapped them around his own cock. He used his other hand to squeeze the bottle and slick himself enough that he knew he wouldn’t hurt Billy. A part of him fucking _knew_ that Billy wanted this to hurt, that he wanted Steve to be exceedingly rough with him so that all his emotions could be put on a backburner.

 

            Steve knew that wasn’t what Billy _needed_ , even if it was what he _wanted_.

 

            Steve fumbled forward, having been caught up in his thoughts long enough that Billy apparently had gotten impatient, wrapped his legs around him and pulled. He almost fell on top of Billy with a grunt, but he managed to land with one hand on the mattress, the other catching Billy’s chest. Billy’s grunt of discomfort made Steve wince and he shifted so that he could move that hand down to his cock to position himself against Billy’s hole.

           

            As Steve begins to push against that tightness, that heat, Billy starts to writhe. He tries his damnedest to push down, to roll his hips so that Steve would move faster, harder. Steve anchors his hands on Billy’s thighs, holding him still as inch by inch, he fills him. Billy is trying to thrash, trying to push Steve’s hands away, but he holds fast and suddenly Billy is sobbing again, his whole body shaking.

 

            “Please, _please_ just fuck me, Steve, please,” Billy begs and Steve’s heart hurts. Normally, when Billy begs, Steve does whatever he wants. He can’t this time. He _won’t_. Instead, he leaned down and traps Billy’s pleas in his mouth. He refuses to move his hips, settled deep inside of Billy’s body. Some of the writhing calmed as Steve kissed him, dipping his tongue into Billy’s mouth, exploring him so thoroughly that it leaves Billy gasping.

 

            “Not gonna fuck you, Billy,” Steve murmured against his lips, and the sobbing increases as he slides his hips back and then pushes forward, gentle and agonizingly slow. Billy moves his arms around Steve’s neck and digs his nails into his back. It stings, but Steve doesn’t give in, doesn’t let the pain or Billy’s urgency push him forward. He continues his gentle pace, pulling almost all the way out before sinking in. Their breaths mingle as he does, Billy’s fast and shallow while Steve’s was slow and careful.

 

            Billy’s thighs tighten around Steve’s waist and pull while his hips rolled and pushed down, but Steve is having none of it. He settled one hand on the bed and placed the other on Billy’s hipbone. Putting pressure stopped Billy’s movement, kept him still, and Steve slid only an inch or so out before pushing in again.

 

            “Calm down, baby,” Steve pressed his lips to Billy’s cheek, tasting his tears. He continued to kiss him, even as more tears rolled down Billy’s temples and into his hair.

 

            “I _need_ ,” Billy began, breathless and desperate, his nails dragging over Steve’s back. They dug in particularly hard as Steve pushed in, shifting his hips just _so_. When Billy choked on a moan, Steve knew he had the right angle. He brushed his thumb over Billy’s hipbone, back and forth, as he continued to roll his hips into that spot. He leaned back just in time to watch Billy bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut.

 

            Billy was gorgeous—breathtakingly. It didn’t matter if he was bruised or cut. Steve was always in awe of just how _perfect_ he was, despite how undeniably rough he could be. Beneath it all, Billy cared _deeply_ , and it took Steve a long time to figure that out, a long time for Billy to show him.

 

            It hadn’t taken long for Steve to break that trust, though, and he let the ache of that wash over him as he continued to press Billy into the mattress, to claim his mouth again, to distract himself from what he had done. He knew Billy had forgiven him, though, with how earnestly he returned the kiss. It was strange how easily Billy always forgave him, as if he was holding onto a lifeline, a rope that prevented him from toppling over the edge. Steve felt the sting of tears in his owns eyes, but turned his attention to the way their mouths fit so fucking perfectly.

 

            When Billy began to pant more against Steve’s mouth than kiss him, he knew he was close. Even without touching his cock, Steve could drive Billy into bliss, could make him forget everything that had happened (if only for a few minutes). However, knowing Billy needed to feel touched, to be crowded, Steve stayed pressed against his chest. The position forced him to let go of Billy’s hip. One arm settled against the bed, keeping him balanced while the other curled around Billy’s cock, immediately sure and steadfast in his strokes.

 

            Billy was coming undone—whimpering, gasping, and hissing against Steve’s lips. His body had begun to shudder and Steve could feel his thighs tremor against his hips. Unraveling Billy was all Steve cared about, and as he continued to push into that tight heat, that unmeasurable pleasure, his own ecstasy started to coil at the base of his spine. He finally allowed Billy to manipulate his hips, to pull him in harder, deeper. He groaned into Billy’s mouth as the cock in his hand jerked, and Billy was whimpering his name repeatedly, gasping into their kiss as his stomach became slick with his cum.

 

            It only took Steve a few more thrusts to finish. He made sure to stay as deep as he could in Billy’s body. He knew Billy liked to feel _owned_. He was so out of control outside, but on this bed, _Steve’s bed_ , he begged to be taken care of, to not have to think, to just _feel_.

 

            Eventually, Billy’s legs slipped off Steve’s hips. He was still panting, but when Steve looked down at him, those blue eyes were open and aware. He was finally getting Billy’s attention, and warmth spread through his body.

 

            “Hey, baby,” Steve murmured.

 

            When Billy didn’t respond, Steve eased out of him and then settled onto his side. He gathered Billy into his arms and pressed their foreheads together.

 

            “I’m sorry,” Steve ignored the mess for now, concentrating only on how blue Billy’s eyes were as they watched him. “I should have—I should have known something was going on.”

 

            “Going on?” Billy rolled his lower lip between his teeth. Steve knew that the cut probably stung, and he hated that Billy probably liked it.

 

            “Mother’s day. Your mom…” Steve reached out and took the necklace into his fingers. He stroked along the chain and watched those eyes become glassy again. “Oh, shit, Billy. Please, I never meant…”

 

            “It’s fine, it’s fine, _it’s fine_ ,” Billy’s voice became more desperate as he repeated his words, and each time, Steve pulled him tighter against his body.

 

            “No, it’s not. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll ask questions. I’ll do _something_ ,” Steve pressed his lips below Billy’s right ear and shivered at the coolness of the earring as it brushed his face.

 

            “I promise,” Steve said again, this time with more conviction. “Okay, Billy? I promise.”

 

            “Okay.”


End file.
